


Breakfast at Baizul

by kalima



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Comfort Food, Crazy kids in a cave, flufftastic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24891400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalima/pseuds/kalima
Summary: First-year cadets trapped in a damp cave for seven days awaiting rescue.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Breakfast at Baizul

It struck Spock as bewilderingly human to talk incessantly of food after having not eaten in seven days. 

There was plenty of water available from speleothem drips. They devised a filtration system just to be safe, which was mostly effective. Established a waste elimination area some distance away. The cavern was uncomfortably cool for some (Spock), and uncomfortably humid for all. They couldn’t be beamed out but other methods to retrieve them were being “explored.” No one was certain how long it would take.

With water, humans could easily survive a month without sustenance. Cadet Asier and Spock would last longer. Both he and Cadet Buldan had experience with fasting, so between them they committed to helping their fellow cadets through the worst of it. All things considered, everyone handled themselves with adult professionalism. The first two days.

The third day there was crying. A lot of crying. Some of the crying was merely crying for the sake of it, because humans needed emotional release, and he understood that intellectually, but…

Cadet Ouily seemed unable to surrender to emotional release without a good reason, so he thought of one. “We dated for three years in high school and then the first time we did it he ghosted me.” That led to a cascading litany of wrongs done and insecurities expressed. Cadet Soto had never gotten over disappointing her father that _one time_. (Only once? Congratulations.) Cadet Bailey was convinced he was going to fail Statistical Mechanics. (Tutors are available.)

The fourth day everyone slept fitfully (including him but mostly because their thoughts were so loud).

The fifth day he patiently guided them into a meditative state because he really, _really_ needed their minds and their mouths to be quiet.

The sixth day they finally got word that a way to rescue them had been devised. It would only be another 36 hours at most, so hold on.

Rescue was close. So naturally talk turned to the many foods they were not eating.

At eighteen Spock had fasted as a form of meditation, and as a rite of passage. He knew how to set aside superfluous stimuli. But it was much easier to achieve a quiet level of awareness when not being assaulted by descriptions of that most perfect of Vulcan street foods, fried muteku, which Cadet Buldan claimed were exactly like falafel because apparently Cadet Buldan was an _expert_ on transplanetary pancultural street food.

“If muteku are fried in peanut oil you can’t tell the difference, swear to god.”

He wanted very much to protest that _he_ could tell _._ But he had never tasted falafel. When they were out of this cave, he would find falafel and prove it.

“I would drink a gallon of peanut oil right now,” said Cadet Soto.

He wanted to tell her exactly why it would be foolish (stupid) to flood her system with dense calories right now. 

“Everybody. Favorite comfort food from childhood. Go.”

He wanted to tell them all to shut up. But politely somehow.

“Noodles with butter and parmesan cheese. Used to make it when my ma worked late. Then eat it in front of _Brother Tiger_ on holovid.”

Or not politely.

“Oh, I loved _Brother Tiger_! Mine is ramen noodles with a soft-boiled egg.”

“My gran’s mac and cheese. It’s got like six different kinds of cheese. It’s so good.” Cadet Bailey groaned, and Spock thought for a moment he could hear it reverberate in the hollow of his own stomach.

“Xozhi with sea tripe,” said Cadet Asier. And though she was Akaali, and the only other non-human in their group, she had also managed to name a noodle dish.

“What about you Spock? Favorite comfort food from childhood.”

Food was only comfort to an infant as it often came attached to a breast, and the breast attached to a mother who was comfort personified. He wanted to say that, but instead he said, “Pancakes with peanut butter and macerated berries – raspberries in June, blueberries in July, and blackberries in August.”

The silence lasted exactly eight seconds and was less calming than thought he would be.

“Um… where did you grow up again?”

“ShiKahr. Vulcan. But my maternal grandmother lives in Seattle, Cascadia, Pacific Northwest, Earth.”

“Oh. So. Huh.” If any of his classmates were unaware of his heritage by now, he was not about to explain it further.

“I stayed with her for one summer when I was eleven. She would prepare anything I wanted to eat for breakfast.”

He remembered how uncomfortable that offer had been, unable to think of anything he wanted having never been given the choice before. She made him pancakes and demonstrated her favorite method for dressing them. The berries grew behind her house. Raspberries ripened in June, blueberries in July, and the blackberries took over the world (her joke) in August.

The summer he spent in his grandmother’s home was the direct result of losing his temper and striking another boy (pummeled with his fists until his knuckles bled.) His parents had argued about it (or rather his mother had argued, his father remained calm). The next day he and his mother were shipbound for Earth. He did not know at that time if they would return to Vulcan. He was certain staying or going would ultimately be the result of his violent action, (action for which he still felt no remorse). But his grandmother —

“My gran’s like that too.” Cadet Bailey. Mac and cheese. “Maybe it’s a grandma thing. My mom would say, ‘are your arms broken, boy?’ My gran would say, ‘sit down, baby, I’ll do it.’”

“My grandmother’s a traffic controller on Mars City Station. She’s all about the replicators.”

“I’d even take a replicated bagel right now.”

All the others protested the horror. Bagels from the replicator were notoriously wrong on so many levels.

“A stack of pancakes with peanut butter instead of butter. And juicy smooshy berries dripping down. Uhhhh. I’m going to cry again.”

“Well, you were just talking about drinking peanut oil, so…”

A crackle of static heralded a message from outside. “ _Hey, cadets! Everyone still okay in there?”_

Spock groped around for the communicator. Buldan got it first. “Yes, sir. We’re hanging in.”

“ _We need you to move about twenty meters south west if you can_.”

“Copy that.”

Everyone started getting up. Cadet Soto got up too fast and Spock caught her under the arm as she went down again. “Thanks,” she said, and as she got her feet under her she pulled her arm closer to her body. His fingers were trapped for a moment pressed against the side of a damp bare breast not covered by her equally damp undershirt. “Sorry,” she whispered, then started to giggle uncontrollably, “my boob isn’t usually that sticky.”

Ouily was half-crawling not trusting his legs to hold him fully erect. Asier’s breathing sounded labored. Bailey muttered that he would never _ever_ complain about Mississippi summers again. Weak and dizzy the humans made their way deeper into the cave. After they had moved as requested, Buldan gave the all clear.

“ _There’s a bore coming through. It’s going to open up the wall. Hopefully there won’t be too much water, but stay back in case.”_

“Hopefully? Jesus.”

“ _Yeah, sorry kid. We’ll slide a pod through. Have to bring you out one at a time, though. It’s gonna take a while. Draw lots or whatever you need to do.”_

Buldan said he’d go last because he was second year and they were all firsts. Spock said the others should go ahead of him as well. The other four began rounds of rock, paper, scissors.

“You guys!” Ouily said. “We should all meet up for breakfast next weekend at the Pancake Hut.”

“They cook meat and veg on the same flattop,” Bailey said. “Me and Spock are vegetarians.” His scissors cut Ouily’s paper.

“Lolly’s?”

“In the Mission District? My credit allotment won’t stretch that far.” Rock crushed scissors.

“Have any of you eaten at Baizul? Chilaquiles _and_ pancakes. All vegetarian.” Asier’s rock was covered by Soto’s paper.

“I win! Whoo hoo!” Sato’s vocal enthusiasm was not reflected in her body, but Spock thought she was smiling. “Yeah, I’m down with Baizul.”

By then they could hear the noise of the bore getting louder and louder. There was no point in talking after that.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what's canon or not canon here, what's comics or books. But I firmly believe in street food. (Someone reminded me they didn't have replicators until Next Gen. But the bagel thing was funny, so...)


End file.
